


rapunzel forgot her lines

by Nixariel



Category: Underworld (Movies)
Genre: Domesticity, F/M, I am on a fluff-roll, cause I love strong women and their dudes in distress, michael may or may not be a manic pixie dream guy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixariel/pseuds/Nixariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Selene and Michael are on the run, but even immortals need the occasional moment to just breathe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the lesser evil

The man she'd given up her life for—a life of _lies_ , whispers the bitter little voice at the back of her brain—was talking, and Selene only barely listening.

“...rt, you need to take a break.”

“Michael, I—wait." There had been something odd in what he'd just said, something _different_. "What was that?”

“Selene, you need to take a break," he obediently repeated.

But that didn't sound right. She could have sworn she heard him say... Never mind. No time for that.

“I’m fine. Besides, we do not have time. Someone may still be monitoring the use of the safehouses and we need to go, soon.” 

“But they’re not going to catch us right this minute, are they? C’mon, Selene. Immortal or not, you’re going to wear yourself out if you don’t unwind every once in a while. Please, for five minutes, just sit down and breathe. No thinking, no worrying, just letting go. I was a doctor, remember? I know about these things.” 

Now he’s giving her that smile, the one that’s all soft and warm and understanding... and completely unfair. She’s christened it the puppy smile, because she always feels like the kind of person who would kick puppies whenever she says no to that look. And really, Selene should say no now. They need as much of a lead on the vampires as possible, and even five minutes can be the difference between getting caught and going free. She can always relax later, just as she will deal with Viktor’s treachery later and how she killed fellow Death Dealers later and how her comrades will be trying to kill her now. Later. 

But right now she’s taken too long thinking about it and Michael is already turning away with that look on his face that is less than disappointment but more than acceptance. It stings a little, to know that Michael assumes Selene will say no even in the absence of response. She’s tired of being hurt, tired of hurting Michael, tired of Michael being hurt, and for a moment sitting down seems like the best idea she’s heard in days. So she does something that’s been happening more and more ever since Michael came into her life: she acts on impulse.

“Fine. But no more than five minutes.” She’s curious to know what it's like to not kick puppies. So, for five minutes precisely, Selene sits and Michael holds her hand. 

(It’s nice.)


	2. follow the sun

“Sweetheart, I’ll check those dates on our blood supply if you like...” 

Hah! This time she was sure she had heard it.

“Michael, you—you called me ‘sweetheart’.” Selene had _thought_ she'd heard it a couple times before, but always when half her attention was somewhere else, and always Michael used her name if asked to repeat himself. 

He slowly straightened to face her. “...I did," Michael agreed, dark eyes steady and sure. "I thought it suited you."

Her face feels warm. She must have taken too much sun earlier yesterday, pushed the powers Corvinus's blood had given her too far, because it is a fact that vampires do. not. blush. Ever. Especially not six-hundred-year-old Death Dealers who have killed more lycans than the man in front of her has had hot meals.

"If you don't like it, I'll stop," he offered.

Stiffly, she brushes it off with a terse “No. It’s fine,” even though Selene—the avenger, the warrior, the cold moon-princess—does not _do_ pet names. She turns away, hoping against hope that the dim pre-dawn light will hide that damnable blush. But Michael is suddenly **there** in front of her, moving with a hybrid’s speed, and tilting her chin up to get a good look at her face.

 _That is **not** the puppy smile_ , is all Selene can think for a moment.

It’s true. She’s never seen this smile before and in the back of her mind it occurs to her that that may be a good thing. After all, people whose knees go weak when other people smile at them don’t survive very long. Distractions like this are bad, even if they make her feel all soft and warm and so very, very feminine, and—and she’s still blushing, damn it!

“Okay then. Sweetheart,” Michael says softly as his smile fades to something more like what she would expect from the sweet innocent almost-boy she'd thought he was. He gives her a gentle peck on the lips, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and lets her go to finish checking on the expiry dates of the blood they are carrying. She’s left feeling like a pack of lycans have ambushed her just outside her room in Ördögház, but... in a _pleasant_ way.

Which doesn’t make any sense, but Selene is finding that a lot of things that happen around Michael don’t make sense. So she files it away as strange but harmless and goes to clean her gun.

By the fridge, Michael is still smiling. He’s thinking about what kind of flowers Selene might like.


	3. summer in your winter (part one)

_**oh i do love the sea**_

Surprisingly, Michael was the first to notice.  

 

_Selene’s mother had had a hard time carrying to term. She gave birth to only two children, both girls, six years apart. After that, her husband had refused to risk another. He loved his wife very much. Why risk losing her for the chance at a son when he was more than content with his two beautiful daughters?_

 

Michael stopped. The train roaring past them in the underground station had flooded his hybrid senses in its passing, distracting him, long enough for Selene to vanish. He carefully took a deeper breath, bracing himself for the sudden rush of _smell_ overwhelming his nose with information. 

Closing his eyes, he tried to sort through them.

_There!_

Old blood, faint cordite, leather, and… tuna salad? He opened his eyes, turned toward the source—and saw Selene, eyeing a pre-packaged sandwich cart like it was a new clip for her handgun. 

At least it explained the tuna salad. 

He walked up behind her and carefully said nothing. He knew that if he asked what was wrong, she’d still more than likely brush off his concern rather than tell him anything.

Abruptly, almost defensively, she spoke: “Vampires cannot consume anything other than blood.  They do not **desire** anything but blood.” She paused for a moment, then added plaintively, “And those sandwiches are at least two days old.”

He’d smile, because Selene is _adorable_ when she’s just a little bit bewildered, but she’d take it the wrong way. “You’re not exactly a vampire anymore, sweetheart,” he pointed out. “Maybe the new appetite is all part of the daywalking. After all, we found that I could eat regular food, as long as it wasn’t on an empty stomach.”

He tested the waters.

“Do you _want_ to try something?” he delicately asked.

Her reply was automatic. “No, I—”   
Then she stopped, and Michael could _see_ her thinking it over. 

_Note to self: don’t let anyone else play poker with Selene._

The only emotion those eyes hid well was fear.  

“…Not here,” she finally answered. “When— _if_ it… does not work, it would be wise to have no witnesses.”

Michael smiled.  
Bought the sandwich, a polite smile for the vendor whose incurious eyes slid over him like oiled glass.  
Tucked it in his pocket for later. 

He’s the dreamer of the two of them, so it seems only right that he carry this newest and most fragile hope.

 _Impossible things_ , Selene would say, shaking her head.  
But were they not impossible things too?

A human-turned-hybrid.  
A vampire that walked in the sun.

Once upon a time, he was a pretty decent cook. Michael would bet Selene had never tasted anything like his homemade lasagna. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written before _Underworld: Awakening_ ; now a separate continuity for post- _Evolution_.


	4. summer in your winter (part two)

**_root of the_ **

Not that he was terribly fast on the uptake either.

 

_It surprised everyone when Selene’s sister gave birth to twins barely a year into her marriage.  Her father said she must take after her grandmother, his mother, who had delivered eight children without hardship._

 

Selene was retching in the bathroom again. It was the third time this week.

Michael poked his head in, trying not to hover and knowing he was failing miserably.

"Selene? Can I get you some water?"

She shook her head, still curled over cool porcelain. But one foot edged out to firmly close the door.

Michael blinked at the white-painted plywood.  
Okay. He could take a hint.  
And this motel was actually one of the cleaner ones they'd been in, as far as the floor she was kneeling on went.

(Still, if they stayed another night, he might just quietly borrow the building's least odorous cleaning supplies and see if he couldn't make things a little bit nicer in there. Selene didn't have his nose but at least he'd be doing _something_.)

Ten minutes later, the door reopened to reveal a pale—even more so than usual—but upright Selene.

"I checked the cooler," Michael said immediately. "There's nothing wrong with it, and all the blood packs are good for at least another two weeks."

"Then it must be the food," she decided. "I will stop."

He tilted his head; gently pointed out the holes in her conclusion. "Sweetheart, you were eating normal food for a good week before this started. Don't you think it would have happened earlier, if it was from that?"

Selene _scowled_ at the innocent red-and-white plastic container that hid their blood supply. "There is no other explanation," she insisted, stubborn as ever.

Michael reached out, tugging Selene close to rub her back with one hand.

That she let him—that she even, ever so slightly, leaned into it—was a treasure in and of itself.

"Could be a stomach bug," was all he said. "Lots of crowds lately." Privately, he thought the last place she'd chosen to try had been a bit dodgy, even for somebody used to medieval standards of food preparation. And that was _before_ she smothered everything in pickles.

There was a grumpy little noise under his chin, like low-pitched steam escaping a kettle.

"Vampires," Selene muttered, "do not get _stomach bugs_."

He hummed, a carefully noncommittal sound, and resolved to see what the nearest drugstore had for anti-emetics. For now, maybe he could convince Selene to sleep another hour or two before they moved on.


End file.
